


Transience

by Ellepige



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Feels, M/M, McHanzo if you squint - Freeform, Other, Sad, Self-Harm, Short, compulsive behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 16:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellepige/pseuds/Ellepige
Summary: Jesse McCree was never a man for poetic imagery.





	

It has become a habit of his to get up early enough to watch Hanzo getting ready for the day. Not always, but when they are on missions, sleeping in one cheap motel or another. Shimada has the annoying habit of taking his sweet time grooming himself.  
He's a freelancer now, McCree tells himself. As free as Shimada is.  
They both suck at running from their duties.  
Duties that have roots far back in their respective pasts. Old debts to pay.

Maybe that's why Winston and Athena suggested them working with each other. The archer seemed to tolerate him, which was, as far as Jesse was concerned, quite something. The omnipresent scowl on the man's symmetrical face seemed less broody when he was around. Hanzo was still frightening, way too perceptive for his liking. Always on edge. Ice-cold rage carefully hidden behind a facade of codified politeness.

The mask grew thin over the course of the day, cracks started to form with each sip from the small sake bottle, with every gram of pure, white coke. It was never enough to be dangerous for their mission, but apparently it was enough to drown out some unpleasant memories. McCree knew that too well, he was used to the comforting fuzzy feeling of a few too many drinks. He never really managed to fall asleep without.

Only in the latest nights, when he is ready to fall into a dreamless slumber, he sees something different from the neutral, calm expression on the assassin's face. A faint smile. A deep frown. On rare occasions a pained sigh or an almost soundless laughter accompanies Hanzo's breakdown.  
And in the mornings, he builds his facade anew, with movements that seem to come almost automatically. Slender, slightly calloused fingers smooth down his still-damp hair, tie it back so it doesn't get in the way. The stiff cloth of his clothing is arranged artfully, draped in elegant, well-measured pleats. Cold water helps hiding the dark rings under worn-looking eyes, clings to too black lashes. The smell of alcohol is still prominent in these moments, sickly-sweet and rotten.  
Hanzo never expresses his discomfort, never complains about Jesse standing nearby, already dressed in his armor and the crumpled wool of his serape, eyes hidden under the brim of his hat. Maybe he knows that the two of them are similar in this way. That there is no room for shame between them. Maybe he is still drunk enough not to care.  
The sound of a deep inhale. Hanzo's knuckle against his slightly crooked nose. Blood drips into the sink and with the back of his hand, the archer wipes some off his face. A smear stays close to thin lips, rosy on pale skin. McCree remembers reading some silly tourist guide about Hanamura and its famous cherry trees, pictures in gaudy pink on glossy paper. The prospect claimed they were a symbol of transience.

As water washes the stray drips away, he understands the imagery for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again and first of all, thank you for reading.  
> As I said, it's very vague, so I didn't tag it as McHanzo in general. I'm happy with the way Blizzard is taking regarding Hanzo right now, with him hopefully coming to terms with his past, this story probably takes place a bit before, when our favourite archer wasn't yet ready to stop chastising himself.


End file.
